Born for Darkness
by SlytherinPrincess123
Summary: A small little piece of smut featuring Erik and an OC, Samantha.


"So run, Samantha!" His golden timbre echoed throughout the theatre, bouncing off of the hundreds of empty seats and boxes. Erik surged towards her, grasping her forearms too tightly in emaciated fingers.

"Run? But whatever for?" She entreated. Erik's hold relented abruptly, as if he had been burned, leaving her to clumsily sway momentarily. There was a horror in his eyes, revealed by the mask he wore. Hands, clawing the air for something tangible, inky black locks shifting as he shook his head.

"No! I see it, there, in the depths of your eyes! That God forsaken glint of- of- Oh, damn it all to Hell! His lean frame seemed to be caving on itself, as through primal instinct were taking its effect.

Distressed by his pain and bombarded by a sudden need to comfort him, Samantha approached his shaking figure.

"Don't you dare!" He barked at her, furious in his intent. With his loud outcry, she leapt back to a safer distance with a yelp. "It's there, just playing on the surface, just like her!" There was a bizarre silence. "I knew a girl like you once. Long before I came to Paris. You both share that- that…" He waved a hand in her direction as if the gesture itself could explain where he meant to go with that statement.

"Knew?" Samantha began instead, slowly, testing the new stratum of his temper. "What became of her?"

Erik seemed to gain some sense of normality for a moment, but it quickly disappeared behind a mask, figurative, that is, of aggravation. "What do you think?" A small scowl of contempt arose at memories passed. "I killed her. Oh, yes, look frightened! Irony at its cruelest, for I never even intended to see her dead!"

A sadness briefly took over those mismatched orbs that glowed at her before he continued, "It was an accident… yes, an accident." Calmness consumed him, possibly more disconcerting than his anger.

She blinked, and Erik stood before her, with his tall, looming aura. Scarred appendages gently brushed the place where ruthlessness just previously assaulted.

"You must run. You have to leave while you still have the chance, while you still can." When she showed no intention of taking heed to his warnings he snapped, "Listen to me, you infernal girl! Go! Run as fast as your legs will carry you, flee like the hounds of Hell are at your heels! Take shelter somewhere far from here, somewhere poor, sad Erik can never find. A place no cartographer could bring light to. You must. There's no time left to dawdle. Stop for nothing, no, because Erik will find you if you are still, for even a moment. And with Erik comes Death, creeping like a shadow, mercilessly taking all those near but Erik…. It should have been Erik…. It should have been me…" His eyes saw through her, to something deeper and terrifying that she did not know. "No matter how far a distance I hold you, Death will take you. Wether by chance in a strange accident, or by my own hands in one of my blind rages, who knows? But it is sure to take you now that I care. It will take you from me."

He began to utter unintelligible phrases to himself in what Samantha could only assume was Russian.

Partly to stop the nonsense twitching from his mouth, she took his jacket lapels roughly in her clutch and crashed her lips against his. Slightly brazen in her assertiveness, a faint blush crept upon her cheeks.

He stilled to unnerving degrees, the hard planes of his body tense against her. She softened the kiss- if you could call it that, for he made no move to reciprocate- and wound her arms up his not-overly-broad shoulders and around his neck, nimble fingers playing in the soft hair at the back of his head. She tilted her head, attempting to coax some response from him. When none came, she disjointed herself from his motionless lips and nipped at what must have been a sensitive spot under the column of his throat, licking gently at the already-reddening skin, and kissing more color into the pale instrument before her. His rigid exterior was now shaking with emotions not evident to her. Anger? Fear?

Fingers dug into the creamy skin of her shoulders, and their lips met once more. But this time, initiated by Erik. Secure arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her to him. Samantha's knees trembled, threatening to give way, but his strong grasp lifted her, leaving no room for even air between their bodies. His tongue possessively bid her lips to part for him, and she was compliant, her own hesitantly coming forward to entwine in a battle of dominance. Feverish hands roaming, claiming, branding their lust onto one another's flesh. Clawing desperately at the firm muscles of his back, she became increasingly aware of the swelling of his desire pressing into her hip and the unashamed moans he continued to elicit from her kiss-bruised lips.

He claimed her like no other, learning at an astounding pace what made her quiver with longing. Passion came from him in waves, in the heat of his breath on her neck, as he doubtlessly left marks along her collar bone and jaw, and the sureness of his hands, currently pinning her hips to his own.

It became overwhelming for them both, his powerful dominance exciting her, causing her most intimate places to ache with need, and Samantha's soft, tempting form driving him to new heights of dizzying desire.

She briefly spared a thought for what it would have appeared as for someone passing by. They would not see the Opera Ghost and the American chorus girl, no. Indecency, yes, they would see that plainly. But they would look down on them as they would any other couple they found overly forward (though as much was not their usual way), and the thought brought with it an abnormal rush of happiness.

It was upon moving a hand to caress her high, elegant cheek that Erik brushed her breast, and an alarmingly clamorous whimper escaped her.

All sense was returned to him.

He stumbled backward, out of her welcoming arms, far from his usual grace.

Despite the obviousness that something was amiss, the image of him: hair disheveled, mouth a deep red, skin flustered excitedly, clothes slightly askew, caused heat to curl dangerously in her belly.

Erik's fingers twitched as he regained his balance. "I've never… No one's ever… Couldn't…" He trailed off. "NO!" He shouted like a lion, a fierce roar that echoed through the walls of the opera. "Samantha, if you have any sense of self preservation, you'll vacate the premise immediately!"

Ignoring his pleas all together, she steadily drew closer. A single touch, one endearing caress was given. A hand stroking the coolness of his mask. "Why won't you let yourself be happy?"

He hesitated, seemingly willing himself to allow her kindness. "Because, Samantha, a creature such as me was born for darkness."

And with a swirl of his cloak, he disappeared into the shadows backstage and away from her life. She fell to her knees, caring nothing for the threatening presence of a completely empty opera now.

She wept. She wept for Erik, for the misery he had known, and for the happiness he would not allow himself to have.

FIN


End file.
